


Soothed

by britishmenaredestroyingmylife



Category: American Actor RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 21:30:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3584760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/britishmenaredestroyingmylife/pseuds/britishmenaredestroyingmylife





	Soothed

I was doing the dishes automatically, the list of things I had to do before Monday running through my mind yet again. It was shrinking, at least. I’d paid all the bills; I’d finally gotten the security system up and running; I’d purchased enough kitty litter and cat food to keep a shelter running for a month – far more than my one cat would need. I mean, I was only going to be in the hospital for two days at the most, but… well.

The shattering of glass broke through my reverie, and I looked down. I had apparently been gripping a tumbler so hard it had cracked under the strain. A thin line of red ran down from a cut in my palm.

I gingerly turned off the faucet and grabbed for a paper towel to stem the bleeding.

“Hey! You okay?” Chris’s voice rang out from the bedroom, where he’d been watching TV.

“I’m fine,” I answered, squeezing the paper towel in my injured hand before heading to the bathroom.

“What happened?” He stood in the doorway in his jeans and an old t-shirt. The running water in the sink turned pink as I washed the cut.

“I broke a fucking glass,” I huffed. “I was washing it and it just shattered.”

“Whoa, whoa. Easy,” he murmured as he grasped my hand, which was turning red from my violent scrubbing. “Keep that up and you’re just going to irritate it.”

I yanked my hand away. “I can take care of myself, Chris.” I stalked back to the cupboard over the sink and grabbed the Bactine and a Band-Aid.

“Hey!” He followed me. “Mindy. What the fuck?”

“I’m fine, Chris!” I yelled back. I applied the antiseptic and flinched at the burning pain; tears sprang to my eyes, but I blinked them back hard and quickly dried my hand before applying the bandage.

“ _Mindy_.”

“What, Chris?  _What_?” I whirled to face him and immediately regretted my tone. He looked thoroughly wounded.

“You know what?” His voice was soft. “It’s fine. I’ll go, I’m obviously in your way here – ”

“Chris, wait…” I swallowed down the lump in my throat as I followed him into the bedroom. He was seated on the bed and had already started pulling on his socks and sneakers.

He looked up, and the hurt in his eyes made me hate myself.

“I’m… I just…”

“Mindy, you’re…”

“I know.” I folded my arms in front of me and leaned against the doorframe, taking deep breaths.

We faced each other in silence for a minute or a two.

“I know why you do that,” he said.

I squinted in confusion. “Do what?”

“You’re taking those deep breaths you always take when you get upset. You want to cry, don’t you? The deep breathing stops it.”

My lips twisted in annoyance, but I stayed silent.

“We’ve been together for… what, five months now? And I’ve never seen you cry. Not once.” He tied his shoelaces and stood up. He crossed the distance between us in two long, slow steps. “Mindy, I know you’re going through a lot, but why won’t you open up to me?”

I opened my mouth then closed it.

“See? You’re always holding back.” He shook his head before turning to grab his sweatshirt off the floor. “I mean, I want to be here for you afterwards. But I care about what you want, and I don’t know what to think. I feel like you don’t want me around sometimes. Or you don’t trust me.”

“That’s not it,” I blurted. I closed my eyes slowly and suddenly became aware I was still taking those deep, slow breaths. Second nature by now.

He raised an eyebrow and held out his upturned hands. “Can we talk about this?”

I pursed my lips and dropped my head, my arms still crossed protectively around my chest.

“Dear God, Mindy, if you could see yourself right now. You’re so closed off, you look… honestly, you look like you want nothing to do with me.”

“Well, you’re forcing me into – ”

“How am I  _forcing_  you?” he exploded. “I just asked if we could  _talk_! Christ.” He shook his head again and slid past me into the living room. “I just want to know I’m not the only one who’s in this thing.”

I stared at the rumpled bedsheets for a moment before reaching for his Red Sox cap, which he’d left hanging on my headboard.

He was looking at me expectantly as I stepped back out, kneading the hat nervously in my hands.

“We can… talk. But can we sit down?” I whispered. He immediately plopped down on the couch and patted the spot next to him.

I walked over, refusing to meet his gaze, and took a seat. I felt myself go rigid at his touch, but he still wrapped his arm around my shoulders. His voice was low. “What are you scared of?”

“I’m scared of what’s going to happen,” I replied unhelpfully.

“With what?”

“After the surgery.”

“Like… what, the medications? The food plan?”

“I’m scared of what I’m going to look like, Chris.”

“What?”

I stood up and started to pace. “It’s weight-loss surgery, so obviously I’m going to drop a lot of weight, and I’ve seen pictures of other people who drop a lot of weight, and they have all this extra skin, and Jesus Christ, Chris, I’m not a shallow person, but I’m also not blind and I’m not an idiot, I like myself the way I am now, I could get surgery after to have the skin removed but then I’ll be covered with scars, but the alternative – I just – I can’t live with the pain anymore, I have to get this done, and I know what I have in you, I know you love me now, and I know right now I’m kind of pretty and I know at least you think I’m pretty even though I’m fat but I’m afraid – I’m scared – I – I – ”

He looked genuinely shocked when I finally raised my eyes to his, and I finally lost it. I buried my face in my hands and sobbed openly. I could feel his arms enfold me tight as he pressed me to his chest and rested his head on top of mine.

I trembled and shook as he held me, still crying desperately.

“Hey. Hey. Shhh. It’s okay. Baby…”

“I don’t want to lose you, Chris, I lose them all, they all leave eventually, and you, I don’t know how the fuck I wound up with you, it was like winning the fucking lottery the day you asked me out and I thought it might even be a joke or a bet or something but then it wasn’t, you were wonderful, and you’ve been wonderful and loving and supportive even though lots of people have said you could do so much better, and I know you could do better, I know you could, I’m not stupid…”

“Oh my God. Is this what you think about yourself?” He knelt at my feet and my tears fell harder and faster as I looked at him. “Mindy. Mindy. No. You’re wrong… you’re so wrong… oh my God, sweetie…”

“And I’m afraid I’m going to just… I’m going to turn into someone else… and you won’t love me anymore…”

“ _No_ … no… honey…” He squeezed me tight and nestled his face into my belly. “I love you. You know that.”

“But what if you – ”

“Shhh.” He stood up and led me back to the couch, where I curled up next to him the way I usually did.

“And now I’m sitting here crying like the weak, pathetic idiot that I am – ”

“Mindy,  _stop it_!”

The sharpness of his tone startled me and I looked up in fear. He seemed horrified.

“Just… stop! Stop talking about yourself about like that!”

“I’m sorry.” I lowered my eyes in embarrassment.

“No, stop! Okay, listen. Listen to me.” He gripped my shoulders so that I was facing him. “I want to talk to you. I want you to open up to me. But I  _don’t_ want to hear you apologize, or talk about yourself as if you’re… just… I mean, did you  _hear_ yourself? What kind of man do you think I am? What do you think of me, if you’d think I’d love the person you just described?”

I slumped, ashamed. “I guess I never thought of it that way.”

“You can’t possibly believe what you’re saying. ‘Weak’? ‘Pathetic’? And you thought I might be joking when I first asked you out?  _Really_?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” I mumbled.

“People can be fucking assholes sometimes,” he muttered, stroking my arm as he pulled me close again. “I hate that you thought that about me.”

“Well, you proved me wrong.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said, sounding frustrated. “You’re worried I’m going to leave you because of the way you look. As if that was all that mattered.”

“It  _does_  matter, Chris, you’re always saying how much you love my boobs and my curves and my skin – ”

“Mindy, those aren’t the  _only_ things I love about you. And more importantly, they’re not  _why_  I love you.” He kissed my forehead. “I love you because you’re you.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“Do you love me?” he asked hesitantly.

I looked up at him. “Are you kidding me? I love you… probably too much.” I wrapped my arms around his waist.

“No such thing.” He leaned his cheek against the top of my head. “I’m not going anywhere, sweetie. I promise.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Even if I get ugly and look like an old lady?”

He snorted. “Oh, please. I dig old ladies.”

I giggled. “ _What_?”

“Come on! Helen Mirren? Judi Dench? Betty White? All still hot. All old ladies. I’d do any of them.”

I slapped his chest playfully, my tears finally drying up. “So that’s why you helped Betty up the stage at that awards show…”

He nodded. “Oh, totally. I was hoping to hit that at the afterparty.”

I laughed. “All makes sense now.”

“That’s right.”

We sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Seriously, though…” He cleared his throat as he drew circles on my shoulder. “I know it’s hard for you. But I’m not leaving you, Mindy. You’re not going to get rid of me that easily.”

I felt the tears overflow again, and I whispered the only thought I could formulate. “I love you, Chris.”

“I love you, too.” He smiled and kissed me.


End file.
